


A Good Thing

by Essie_Cat



Series: A Few Good Things [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Asexual Albus, Asexual Character, Body Image, Chubby Scorpius, Coming Out, Insecurity, M/M, Misunderstandings, Not Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Compliant, Weight Gain, Weight Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:42:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27251389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Essie_Cat/pseuds/Essie_Cat
Summary: Scorpius knows he’s a little out of shape. But he didn’t think it was so bad that Al Potter — the hot Quidditch player he might-be-sort-of-dating, no big deal — would take one look at him shirtless and immediately break up with him.(chubby!Scorpius and ace!Albus feat. misunderstandings and lots of awkwardness)
Relationships: Scorpius Malfoy/Albus Severus Potter
Series: A Few Good Things [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2155320
Comments: 10
Kudos: 208





	A Good Thing

**Author's Note:**

> I’m back at it again with my chubby Scorbus obsession, and I’ve thrown in some asexual representation too, so really this is all of my favourite things in one. 
> 
> On that note, a couple of warnings for this - Scorpius struggles with body image, and Albus struggles with his sexuality, so if those are things you prefer to avoid, maybe proceed with caution. Ultimately this fic aims to be positive about both of them though, and don't worry, there’s a happy ending.

Scorpius is no stranger to embarrassment — after eighteen years of experience, he might be an expert in the matter — but being broken up with during sex is definitely a new low for him.

Well. Maybe not _broken up with,_ seeing as they weren’t officially together or anything. And maybe not literally _during_ sex, depending on your definition of things. But that’s all an issue of semantics. 

The point is that Scorpius was in Al Potter’s bed, a little tipsy and very naked, when suddenly Albus scrambled up, pulled his trousers back on and said three words that will probably haunt Scorpius until the end of time: 

“Actually, let’s not.”

Scorpius, mortified, had no choice but to hastily get dressed and floo home and avoid his father’s interrogation about why he was back from his ‘friend’s’ house so early. And then spent the last few days of Christmas break moping in his room and drowning his sorrows in hot chocolate and treacle fudge. 

Ever since term started again a week ago, Albus has been avoiding him. Or, he’s been avoiding Albus. Some combination of the two, maybe. Which has been difficult seeing as they share a dormitory and have half their classes together. But still. 

If their fellow Slytherins have noticed, they haven’t said anything. Scorpius prays that Albus hasn’t told anyone. God knows _he_ hasn’t. This is definitely a take-it-to-the-grave kind of situation.

So Scorpius is doing a great job of moving on from the most embarrassing moment of his life — in a very mature and very healthy manner, mind you — until Octavia accosts him in the great hall and insists he join her and Albus for breakfast. 

“Erm —” he tries, looking around wildly for someone else he might be able to sit with, and ignoring the way Albus is blatantly cowering behind his copy of the Daily Prophet.

But Octavia is already dragging him down next to her and has poured him a cup of tea before his brain has time to adjust to what’s happening.

“How was your Christmas?” she asks him brightly, while Scorpius sips his tea and Albus sneaks a piece of toast behind his newspaper. “I feel like we’ve barely seen you since we got back. Don't you think, Al?”

Albus peeks out over the top of the paper with a hint of worried green eyes and messy black hair. He grunts some sort of reply and dives back behind his shield again, and the whole thing is so stressful that Scorpius finds himself loading his plate with bacon and eggs and buttered toast before he can really think about what he’s doing. And then scoffing it down before he has time to change his mind. 

He’s been trying to eat more healthily since term started again. Really, he has. He’s been skipping dessert — even apple crumble, his absolute favourite — and making sure he eats his greens and drinks lots of water and all that. Picking bacon and eggs over a sensible bowl of porridge wasn’t exactly part of the plan.

He’ll definitely get back on track, though. He knows he overindulged a bit over Christmas. More than a bit. He’d been thinking about cutting back even before the embarrassment with Albus. And while he didn’t exactly need a huge, humiliating sign from the universe going _Time to get in shape, mate,_ he’s not going to ignore it now that he’s had one. 

Albus sneaks another piece of toast behind his newspaper. Scorpius sips his tea and tries not to look at him. The bacon and eggs start to taste like regret. 

The whole mess is probably his fault, really. Definitely his fault. Sure, Albus could have handled it more tactfully, but he can’t really be blamed. 

Scorpius is okay with his weight most of the time. He’s always been a bit on the heavier side, and it’s never really bothered him or stopped him from doing any of the things he wanted. But over the last few months, his weight has definitely been creeping up more quickly than usual, repeatedly taking him by surprise — putting his school robes on after the holidays and finding they pinch around his middle; suddenly noticing there’s more pudge than usual to soap up in the shower; running a hand over his stomach and realising how _round_ he feels. 

Even so, Albus hadn’t seemed immediately disgusted when he first saw him after a few weeks apart, so maybe the difference isn’t that obvious through his clothes. It was only when he made the mistake of getting undressed, every extra pound and roll and stretchmark on full display, that Albus must have realised what he’d blundered into and clearly regretted getting involved with Scorpius in the first place. 

Scorpius realises he’s staring into his empty mug. He sets it down on the table with a clatter, mumbles some excuse to Octavia, and hurries out of the hall.

His last class of the day is Arithmancy, which he’s been dreading. There are three people in his NEWT class. He is one of them. Albus is another.

The third person, as it turns out, has the gall to be in the hospital wing having her hair regrown after a mishap in potions that afternoon.

Bloody brilliant.

“Shuffle along, Mr Malfoy,” Professor Fergus tells him, bemused, after Albus and Scorpius take seats on opposite sides of the empty classroom. Scorpius grabs his books and his bag and reluctantly takes the desk next to Albus’s, staring ahead at the board and decidedly not at Albus bloody Potter next to him. 

Which, frankly, is easier said than done. For one thing, Professor Fergus starts the lesson by asking them to compare answers on the numerology assignments they’d been set over the holidays. For another, Albus is just so unfairly attractive that it’s making it difficult for Scorpius to focus on obliterating the last traces of his rather sizeable crush on the guy.

At one point, when Fergus heads into the supply cupboard to grab a fresh quill, Albus leans over to Scorpius’s desk and whispers, “You can’t ignore me forever, you know.”

Scorpius gapes at him. It’s the first time they’ve spoken properly in over a week. Definitely the first time Albus has looked him in the eye.

“Excuse me?” he hisses back, as if he, Scorpius, had been the one hiding behind his newspaper this morning.

“Look. I’m sorry about what happened, all right? That’s not how I wanted things to go. Obviously. I’m really embarrassed about it.” 

Scorpius stares at him. The apology is noted and appreciated. But why is _Albus_ embarrassed? Scorpius is the one who was rejected in such humiliating circumstances, who has spent the last week trying to scourge all memory of the encounter from his poor traumatised brain. 

Professor Fergus emerges from the supply cupboard. Albus sits up straight in his chair again, and hastily asks Fergus a question about numerological theory that Scorpius is almost certain he already knows the answer to.

Scorpius sinks down in his chair. He wonders idly where he might be able to get his hands on a time turner. If they could just rewind a couple of months to before all of this started, that would be wonderful. This whole thing is infinitely worse than if Albus had never looked twice at him in the first place. Scorpius could have harboured his little crush in private while accepting that, in the real world, people like Albus Potter — house prefect, keeper on the Quidditch team, son of international celebrities, with his sparkling green eyes and nice arms and charming smiles and messy black hair that somehow always manages to look artfully tousled — would never be interested in someone like _him._

But for a few weeks last term, the real world had involved Albus sharing a sofa with him in the common room, Albus smiling at him across classrooms, Albus sneaking into Scorpius’s bed early in the morning when the rest of their dorm was asleep. Albus writing him cute letters when they went their separate ways for Christmas. Albus inviting him over to his place when he knew his parents and sister would be out for the evening. 

Albus kicking him out of bed because he’s gotten so fucking fat that Albus couldn’t even stand to _look_ at him.

There’s a high-pitched squealing noise from the corridor outside. All three of them turn to look. They hear someone shouting “Peeves, NO!” followed by the poltergeist’s gleeful cackling, and a few ominous crashes. 

Fergus pinches the bridge of her nose, looking thoroughly exasperated. Then she grabs her wand and heads for the door. “Make a start on your equations, boys. And read chapter twelve before our next lesson.”

The door slams shut behind her. Scorpius glances at Albus, then quickly looks away. He buries his nose in his Arithmancy textbook as if it might hold the answers to his personal problems as well as to passing his NEWT.

“Are you seriously reading chapter twelve right now?” Albus demands.

“I am _studying,”_ Scorpius says in what he hopes is an icily dignified manner. “Maybe you could do the same.”

Albus makes no attempt to look at his textbook. Instead, he says, “I got you something”, and starts rummaging in his bag. He pulls out a box of chocolate cauldrons, slightly squashed, and holds them in Scorpius’s direction like an offering. 

Scorpius stares at the box as though it might explode. Then he stares at Albus. So Albus apologised, and said he was embarrassed, and now he’s making fun of him and throwing food at the fat guy. _Fantastic._

“No, thank you,” Scorpius says primly. He looks pointedly down at his textbook, but not before he sees Albus’s crestfallen expression.

“They’re apology chocolates. You’re meant to take them to show you accept my apology.”

“Fine, Potter, I accept your apology. Happy?”

“But you don’t want the chocolates?”

“I’m on a diet, all right?” Scorpius snaps, and immediately wishes the ground would swallow him up.

“Oh. Right. Sure.” Albus awkwardly shoves the chocolates back into his bag. He turns the pages of his textbook at random. “I really don’t want things to be weird between us. Can we forget the whole thing ever happened? Can we just — just compromise and be friends?” 

“Yeah. Sure. We can be friends. We can forget all about this. Can we just focus on Arithmancy now?”

Albus nods, tight-lipped, and looks down mulishly at his textbook. Scorpius stares at the words and numerals on the page before him, none of which are making any sense at this particular moment. 

After a minute or so, he slams his book shut and asks, “Why are _you_ embarrassed?”

Albus looks up. “Sorry?” 

“You said that you were embarrassed.” Halfway through asking his question, Scorpius realises what Albus meant. He’s embarrassed that he ever got involved with Scorpius in the first place. So Scorpius hastily tries to backtrack. “Look, you changed your mind. That’s fine. You’re entitled to do that. But you didn’t have to…” He feels his cheeks burning and the words seem to dance away from him. He tries, “I thought that...”

What? Thought Albus was better than this? Thought, just for a moment, that it didn’t matter that Albus is the hot guy on the Quidditch team and Scorpius is the chubby nerd in the chess club? 

“Never mind,” he mutters, when he realises Albus is still looking at him.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Albus says. “I’m embarrassed because … because it’s bloody embarrassing, isn’t it? It’s _weird.”_ His expression has hardened now. “I know it is, all right? I don’t need you making me feel bad about it. You want me to say it, Malfoy, is that it?” His voice is low, but intense. Scorpius is taken aback. “It’s really fucking weird that I won’t have sex with you. There. I said it.”

Scorpius stares at him, and then tries to cover up his confusion by snapping, “It’s not weird. I’m pretty sure no one would want to shag me at this point. So I get it, all right?”

He slumps in his chair. Albus’s brow is furrowed and then his jaw drops slightly, a caricature of surprise. The silence is excruciating. 

After a while, Scorpius ventures weakly, “Do you think Peeves has murdered Fergus? Should we go and help?” 

“Never mind about that,” Albus says impatiently. He lowers his voice again. “That’s what you think? That last week ... that all of that happened because I don’t think you’re attractive?”

_“Obviously.”_

“Okay. Well. That’s not what happened.”

“No?” Scorpius says, the word dripping with scepticism.

“No. I’m sorry if you thought that. I think you’re very attractive, for the record.”

So now he’s trying to be _nice_ about it. Wonderful. 

Scorpius scoops up his books, parchment and quills and shoves them into his bag. The lesson isn’t technically over yet, but it doesn’t look like Fergus is ever coming back, and he just wants to get as far away from Albus Potter and this excruciating conversation as he possibly can.

As he stands up to leave, Albus grabs hold of his arm. “This isn’t your fault, all right? You didn’t do anything. You’re perfect. It’s not your fault that I can’t…” He seems to struggle with the words. “There’s nothing wrong with you. Just with me.”

Then he releases Scorpius’s arm and is out of the classroom before Scorpius has time to fully process what he’s said.

Scorpius goes to dinner in the great hall, where he eats his fill of gammon and chips, has two helpings of rhubarb crumble and ice cream, and then feels thoroughly miserable about the whole thing. He goes to the library and does his equations for Professor Fergus and starts his essay on the First World War for Muggle Studies. In the Slytherin common room, he chats with Dennis about the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend and plays a game of chess with Magda, which he loses spectacularly.

“What’s gotten into you, Malfoy?” she complains. “You’re much better than this.”

“Have you seen Albus?” he asks her eventually.

She shrugs. “He headed straight to his dorm after Quidditch practice. Said he was tired.” 

He settles into an armchair by the fire and watches Magda and Dennis play another game. He thinks about what Albus said in Fergus’s classroom. 

_You’re perfect._

_There’s nothing wrong with you. Just with me._

Magda’s bishop hauls Dennis’s rook triumphantly off the board. The fire crackles in the grate. Something seems to click in Scorpius's brain.

Fast and slow are relative terms when it comes to this sort of thing, but he and Albus had probably been taking things slowly. When it came to physical stuff, at least. For one thing, if you want real privacy, getting time alone when you’re at boarding school is an absolute bloody nightmare. For another — well, Scorpius had thought that Albus was trying to be considerate, that he assumed Scorpius was less experienced than he was and didn’t want to rush him. But maybe that’s not true.

_It’s really fucking weird that I won’t have sex with you._

Oh.

_Oh._

The boys’ dormitory is empty apart from Albus — lounging on his bed, quill behind his ear, reading through an essay on a long stretch of parchment, mouthing along with some of the words and muttering “shit, no” at something that offends him. Then he looks up and sees Scorpius.

“Hey, Malfoy,” he says, sitting up straight and removing the quill from his ear. He runs a hand through his dark hair and it looks perfectly, attractively mussed. As usual.

“About earlier,” Scorpius says, pulling the sleeves of his jumper down over his hands, “I’m sorry for going off on you like that. I got stuck in my own head and I didn’t hear what you were trying to tell me. But … I think I get it now.”

Albus looks at him sharply. “You do?”

“I think so.” He scratches his ear self-consciously. “If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine. But if you do, that would be okay?”

Albus sets down his quill and his essay. He scoots over and sits on the edge of his bed, one leg tucked up underneath him. Scorpius sits down on his own bed. He adjusts his jumper where it’s pulling a bit over his stomach. Then he grabs a pillow and hugs it against his chest in as casual a manner as he possibly can, as though that might successfully hide his body and make Albus forget how chubby he’s getting these days.

“I’m really sorry I made you feel bad before,” Albus says. He’s got his arms wrapped around himself like a shield. “It didn’t occur to me you’d take it that way. But I can see, now, how it must've looked.”

Scorpius shrugs. “It’s okay.”

“I was going to talk to you about this before. I meant to, a couple of times, but ... I’ve only ever told one person, and they were kind of a dick about it.” He hesitates. He glances around the deserted dormitory to check they’re really alone. Then he says steadily, “I think I’m asexual.”

Scorpius holds his gaze, and makes sure his tone is warm and casual as he says, “Okay.”

Albus blinks at him. “Okay?”

“Yeah. Of course.”

On the one hand, it’s kind of a blow that the hot-sweet-funny guy who seemed to like him — and who Scorpius has been crushing on _forever_ — doesn’t actually want to date him. But he shouldn’t make this about himself again. This is definitely Albus’s moment. So all he needs to do is play it cool and be supportive and make sure Albus is okay.

Albus looks suspicious, like Scorpius’s casual response might be some sort of trick. “You know what it means?”

“You’re not interested in sex or relationships, right?”

Albus hugs himself more tightly. “Sort of. Sex definitely isn’t my thing. I know we’ve done some, er, stuff, and that was nice. I like kissing you. A lot. And I like, um, making you feel good?” 

He goes a little high-pitched towards the end and his cheeks are flaming and Scorpius knows his own are just as bad. He coughs awkwardly. 

“But anything more is a hard no.” Albus looks as though he would like to be having any conversation other than this one. “Sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Scorpius tells him gently.

“Right. Thanks.” He bites his lip, then blurts out, “You don’t think it’s weird?”

“Of course not. I mean, all right, it’s kind of unusual. But that’s not the same as _weird.”_

Albus looks a little bit like he might cry. “Okay. Well. Great.” 

There’s a moment of silence, but it’s not too uncomfortable. Scorpius stops hugging the pillow and sets it back down on his bed, arranging it unnecessarily, smoothing out the creases, just for something to do with his hands. Albus watches him, still biting his lip, still looking like he might be at risk of tears. 

Scorpius casts his eyes around for a distraction. He latches onto the scroll of parchment Albus cast aside earlier. “So. Um. Is that your essay for Professor Kaur? Because I’m having second thoughts about my last few paragraphs and I know it’s due tomorrow and it’s a bit late to start changing everything now but —”

“Scorpius?” Albus interrupts.

“Yeah?”

“So. Like I said, I’m not interested in, um, sex stuff. But I’d definitely be interested in relationship stuff. Relationship stuff with you, specifically. If you’d be into that.”

“Oh.” Scorpius feels a ridiculous grin spreading across his face. So much for playing it cool. “Right. I mean. Yeah. That would be great. Really great.”

Albus flashes a ridiculous grin to match his own. “Okay. Great.”

There’s another brief silence. Scorpius coughs again unnecessarily and wishes he had more control over his bodily reactions to awkwardness. 

Then Albus, visibly cringing, says, “Can we _please_ stop talking about feelings now?”

“ _God,_ yes. Want to do the Arithmancy reading?”

Albus splutters out a laugh. He gets up and flops down next to Scorpius on his bed. He reaches out a little uncertainly, sneaks an arm around Scorpius’s waist, pulling him closer. 

“No, Scorpius, I do not want to _do the Arithmancy reading.”_

Some time later, lying on Albus’s four-poster bed with the curtains closed, Scorpius has to concede that this might be better than getting a head start on their homework.

Albus is propped up on one arm, leaning down for kisses, his hand resting gently on Scorpius’s hip. Which isn’t, perhaps, the place Scorpius is most comfortable with it being, considering how much extra padding is there these days. It’s still nice, though. It almost feels like this whole horrible week never happened, like everything is new and sweet and exciting like it was before Christmas.

But then his hand starts drifting to Scorpius’s stomach, nudging up his jumper and fingering the hem of his shirt, and Scorpius finds himself squirming away.

“Sorry,” Albus says quickly, immediately retracting his hand.

“You — you don’t have to do that.” He sits up and puts a bit of distance between them on the bed, firmly pulling his shirt down where the lower roll of his belly was threatening to expose itself.

“Do what? Touch you?” Albus looks a little worried. “That’s not something that makes me uncomfortable, if that’s what you’re thinking. We can have a proper conversation about, er, boundaries and stuff later, if you want, but I thought we were gonna take a break from talking about feelings —” 

“No. I mean...” Scorpius is getting embarrassed all over again. He can’t believe Albus is making him say this sort of thing out loud. “Look, I know I’m getting fat, okay? Maybe I’m there already. Either way, I’m well aware of it and I’m going to do something about it.”

Albus looks him up and down, as though searching for something he’s missed. “Do you … not like how you look? You look great. You’ve gained a bit of weight, maybe. But there’s nothing wrong with that. Your body’s really nice.”

“Come off it,” Scorpius blusters. “I mean, I don’t look like you, do I?” He looks a little accusingly at Albus’s lean, muscled build, the neat taper of his waist, his broad shoulders and strong arms.

“Well, no.” Albus sounds confused. “You look like _you._ I like the way you look. I thought that was obvious.” He pauses. “I didn’t realise you were self-conscious about it.”

“I’m not _self-conscious,”_ Scorpius protests, though he knows full well that he _is._

The corners of Albus’s mouth twitch into a smile. He pulls Scorpius back down so they’re lying together on the bed again. His hand hovers in the air for a moment, and he meets Scorpius’s eyes, searching for permission. 

Then he runs his fingers along the bottom of Scorpius’s belly, where he’s particularly soft. Scorpius resists the urge to squirm away, because — well, for one thing, it feels rather nice, Albus’s cool fingers brushing gently against the warm, smooth skin. 

For another, Albus is looking at him like all he wants to do is lie here with him and look at him and touch him like this. Like maybe, in his eyes, Scorpius really does look great. Like the extra weight there really isn’t a big deal. 

Albus leans in for a kiss, soft and sweet, then cups Scorpius’s cheek with one hand. “I can’t believe you don’t realise how bloody gorgeous you are.”

Scorpius groans. “Shut up, Potter.”

“Not a chance. Now I know you’re insecure about it, I’ll make sure to remind you all the time how stupidly attractive you are.”

“I think I preferred it when we weren’t speaking to each other. Maybe we could go back to that.”

“Malfoy,” Albus says sternly, his green eyes sparkling, “are you going to be all haughty and sarcastic, or are you going to shut up and kiss me?”

Scorpius considers his options, weighs up the pros and cons, and he happily chooses the latter.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Ace Week, everyone. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
